


Even Brighter Than Usual

by theglitterati



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5331569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is drawing Courfeyrac for an assignment. Topless.</p><p><i>Universe, what horrible thing did I do to deserve this?</i> Combeferre thinks to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Brighter Than Usual

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my beta [Carol](http://ronnlynch.tumblr.com)!

“Hey, R, are we doing this now?” Courfeyrac asks.

Combeferre glances up from his book to see what’s going on. Courfeyrac is standing behind Grantaire, prodding at his shoulder to get his attention. Grantaire, for his part, is largely ignoring him to talk to his boyfriend.

They’re upstairs at the Musain, the Amis’ meetings having ended a while ago. Almost everyone is still there, but they’ve broken off into smaller groups and smaller conversations. Combeferre is sitting at the table next to Grantaire and Enjolras’s with Jehan.

“Can you stop making googly eyes at Enjolras and start already?” Courfeyrac asks again. “You’re the one who asked me for help.”

“Fine,” Grantaire says, rolling his eyes. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out his sketchbook.

“What’s Courfeyrac helping you with?” Enjolras asks him.

“An assignment for class,” Grantaire answers. “A portrait.”

“A _nude_ portrait,” Courfeyrac intones, and Enjolras’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Not a nude portrait,” Grantaire corrects. “Definitely not a nude portrait. I _never_ said nude.” He seems like he wants to make that point extremely clear.

“Topless is basically nude,” Courfeyrac says, rolling his eyes, and then he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

 _Universe, what horrible thing did I do to deserve this?_ Combeferre thinks to himself. It’s not that he’s never seen Courfeyrac without a shirt on before. He just hasn’t since he started having feelings for him.

He already has enough trouble keeping… less-than-platonic thoughts about Courfeyrac out of his head on a normal day. He’s been having trouble with it for months. How is he supposed to focus on trying not to think about his best friend in that way when he’s getting half-naked right in front of him?!

He can only imagine how Courfeyrac would feel if he knew the things that Combeferre thought about him, either in class or on the bus or in bed or in the shower.

The others in the café have stopped talking to watch the proceedings. Combeferre tries to look anywhere but at where a topless Courfeyrac is now sitting on a table.

Enjolras makes a squeaky sort of noise and tugs on Grantaire’s sleeve.

“Aw,” Grantaire says. “Are you jealous that I didn’t ask you?”

Enjolras snorts, rolls his eyes, and otherwise makes it clear that he is incredibly jealous. Grantaire leans over and whispers something in his ear that makes Enjolras smile and laugh and, for some reason, glance over at Combeferre.

“Plus,” Grantaire adds out loud, “I’ve already painted you for like six other assignments this year. I think my professors are getting sick of seeing your face. Not that I ever do.”

“Oh my lord, can we get on with this already?!” Courfeyrac asks, like this is a huge hassle for him and like he doesn’t absolutely love being the centre of attention. “How do you want me to pose?”

“Just sit naturally,” Grantaire says, picking up a pencil. “And don’t move around too much.”

Grantaire starts sketching then, and no one says anything else, so Combeferre goes back to his book. He’s proud of himself for not staring at Courfeyrac; it wouldn’t be right to do so when Combeferre feels the way he does about him.

He can’t keep his mind completely off of what’s going on in front of him, however, so he finds himself thinking about Courfeyrac instead of looking at him.

Combeferre can’t remember exactly when this started, when he started seeing Courfeyrac as something other than just a friend. In fact, the further back he goes in his memory, the more he thinks that it might have always been there. Courfeyrac’s just such an easy person to adore that Combeferre can’t imagine feeling anything different about him.

Combeferre realizes that he’s been reading the same page of his book for the last ten minutes, and flips the page hastily. He glances at Jehan to see if they noticed, but Jehan’s writing in their journal, not paying any attention.

Then Courfeyrac tries to get his attention (“Ferre!”) and Combeferre is forced to really look at him.

Courfeyrac, Combeferre thinks, looks beautiful. He’s lean, but he’s stronger than the last time Combeferre saw him like this. There’s a hint of definition on the muscles of his stomach. The last of the day’s sun is streaming in the windows, reflecting off of Courfeyrac’s tanned skin, making him shine even brighter than usual.

Combeferre doesn’t think he could possibly want him more in this moment if he tried.

“Yes?” he manages to croak out.

“What’s your book about?” Courfeyrac asks, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. As if this moment doesn’t matter at all.

 _Of course it doesn’t matter_ , Combeferre thinks, _because there are eleven other people in the room, and no one feels weird right now but you._ _No one else can’t control themselves from thinking that they want to reach out and touch Courfeyrac, to feel him against them—_

Combeferre tries to answer the question, but he suddenly feels terrible, because if Courfeyrac knew what he was thinking, he’d feel violated. And that’s not what Combeferre wants at all. _And_ he realizes that he’s still staring, despite feeling absolutely awful about it.

Then, to Combeferre’s complete horror, Courfeyrac somehow reads his mind, and says with a smirk, “Like what you see?”

 _I am a horrible person_ , Combeferre thinks.

“I have to go,” he says unceremoniously. “I have a lot of homework to do.” It’s a terrible excuse, considering that Reading Week has just started, and Combeferre has all the time in the world to do his work, but it’s all he’s got.

He turns away from Courfeyrac to gather his things, ignoring Courfeyrac’s protests behind him.

“Are you okay?” Jehan asks.

“Yeah,” Combeferre says hastily. “I’m fine.”

And then he practically runs for the stairs without looking back.

***

An hour later, Combeferre is at his desk, ostensibly studying but really thinking about Courfeyrac yet again, when he hears a knock at his bedroom door.

He assumes it must be Enjolras, who he poked his head in to tell Combeferre he was home fifteen minutes ago. Until he hears the voice on the other side of the door.

“Ferre?” Courfeyrac asks. “Can I come in?”

It’s no surprise that Courfeyrac has just let himself into the apartment; he hasn’t knocked in years. And it doesn’t even surprise Combeferre that Courfeyrac has come over after what happened. He’s such a caring friend that Combeferre should have seen this coming.

“Yes,” Combeferre answers through the door. Courfeyrac opens it, steps inside, and then shuts it quietly behind him. Thankfully, he has his shirt back on. He also has a heavy-looking piece of paper in his hand.

“Can we talk?” he asks. He looks almost shy, Combeferre notices. That’s new.

“Okay,” Combeferre says, and Courfeyrac sits down at the foot of the bed, twirling the paper around.

“Ferre, I’m really sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable today,” he says, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know you weren’t really ogling me; I was just making a joke.”

Combeferre didn’t think he could possibly feel worse, and yet, here he is, his opinion of himself sinking ever lower.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Combeferre says then, because he can’t stand the guilt of letting Courfeyrac think he was the one who did something wrong. He grits his teeth. “I was staring. And I feel awful about it.”

For some unknown reason, Courfeyrac smiles. “Why do you feel bad about it?”

“Because you’re my friend – my best friend – and I shouldn’t be looking at you like that. Staring at your body when you don’t know the way I feel about you. Because – I’m really sorry, Courf – I have thoughts about you that are way more than friendly.”

Combeferre delivered most of that speech to the ground, and he’s expecting Courfeyrac to yell at him or storm out. But what is doesn’t expect is, when he looks up, to see Courfeyrac not only still smiling, but grinning from ear to ear.

Courfeyrac shifts down the bed so that he’s even closer to Combeferre, their knees almost touching.

“Can I show you the picture Grantaire drew of me today?” Courfeyrac asks.

“What?” Combeferre answers.

“Just look,” Courfeyrac says, taking Combeferre’s hand and guiding the paper to him.

Combeferre looks. The paper has a drawing – a very detailed, very skilled drawing – of a dog on it. A golden retriever, to be specific.

Either Grantaire has started drinking again or Combeferre has lost his mind.

“There was no assignment,” Courfeyrac says. “Grantaire and I made the whole thing up. Well, I made the whole thing up, and then bribed Grantaire with ten euros to go along with it.”

Combeferre is still lost.

“I _wanted_ you to stare,” Courfeyrac says emphatically. “This whole thing was just a ploy to get your attention. I’ve had feelings for you for months, Ferre. I just wanted you to notice me.”

Combeferre sits very, very still. Courfeyrac’s smile fades as Combeferre stays silent.

“You didn’t have to take your clothes off to get me to notice you,” Combeferre finally says. “I’ve done nothing but notice you for years.”

Courfeyrac’s smile returns, tears coming to his eyes with it this time.

“So you do like me, too?” he asks hopefully. “I thought you said that somewhere in your rambling apology, but I wasn’t sure.”

Combeferre feels like his heart might burst out of his chest. “Of course I like you. You are… you are everything to me, Courf.” Combeferre feels tears coming to his own eyes, too.

“Can I kiss you?” Courfeyrac asks.

Combeferre answers by leaning in and pressing their lips together.

***

When they finally stop kissing and break apart for air, Courfeyrac says: “I hope you don’t feel guilty about staring at me anymore. If you’re going to be my boyfriend, you’re going to have to stare at me a whole lot.”

Combeferre’s jaw drops open.

Courfeyrac clears his throat. “That is,” he says, less confidently, “if you want to be my boyfriend.”

Combeferre can’t say yes fast enough.


End file.
